Strings
by bethalaina
Summary: They got along wonderfully because they weren't a couple. No strings, no expectations.


Hermione rested her cheek on the cool, smooth toilet seat, trying desperately not to wonder when it was cleaned last. The Ministry's house-elves had an annoying tendency to avoid the Equality Department; they did not appear to be interested in fair wages and so on, although Hermione and a few dedicated others continued to fight for them. Several other species did want equality with humans, however, so she never felt that her task was useless--despite the vengeful house-elves.

Hermione spotted something greenish and fuzzy growing on the floor behind the toilet, and the retching returned. As soon as she'd finished, a light knock sounded on the stall door. "Hermione? Is that you?"

She wiped her mouth with toilet tissue, flushed down her breakfast, and opened the door. Her supervisor, Belinda Bobbles, was waiting, looking concerned. Hermione dampened a paper towel and began to pat down her pale face. "Are you alright?" Belinda asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll be back at my desk shortly--I tried a new restaurant a few nights ago and I suppose it didn't agree with me." Viktor had been in town for a week, and the Thai food was his idea. It had tasted great and the restaurant had a terrific atmosphere--but she felt so miserable now that she was going to murder him.

Belinda looked dubious. "What day was that?"

Viktor had gone home Sunday afternoon, the day after they ate Thai food. "Saturday."

"Saturday?" Belinda lifted an eyebrow. "Hermione, it's Thursday. This is the fourth day you've been sick at work. Either you've got a nasty flu, and should go home so you don't share it with me, or you're pregnant." She grinned, clearly joking, but Hermione--already unsteady--grabbed on to the sink to keep from falling. Belinda gripped her other arm, worried. "Hey, I think you need to take the rest of the day off."

"No, really, I--"

"Hermione, you're sick. You need to be home. You've got the paperwork on the last merfolk conference finished, and we don't need the paperwork for the next one until late next week. If you're still throwing up tomorrow, stay home, ok? You need to feel better, and I, for one, do _not_ want this virus."

Belinda was right, of course; Hermione would recover faster if she went home and took some medicine. Once she'd downed the thick pink liquid and curled up in her rattiest, most comfortable sweatpants and baggiest t-shirt, though, Hermione couldn't stop thinking about Belinda's joke.

Pregnant. She couldn't possibly be pregnant, could she? Had she missed a period? She never kept up with it like she ought to; she'd never been regular, anyway. The last one had been...hmm...she'd given the presentation on centaurs before Christmas, and she'd had it then...but now it was almost Valentine's Day! Hermione shot straight up in bed. Two months! She'd missed a period and this one was late! Holy Bloody Merlin. She rushed for the toilet again.

Minutes later, she rolled up a towel for a pillow and lay on the cool tile. How could this have happened? She had always cast the spells. She thought back, analyzing each time she'd slept with Viktor over in her mind. He'd come for New Year's Eve and stayed two days, and then she hadn't seen him again until last week. When he knocked on the door New Year's Eve, he'd looked so good, tasted so wonderful, that they'd barely managed to close the door before the clothes started coming off.

Her wand hadn't been in her pocket right then, Hermione remembered, because she'd been using it for some spellwork in the kitchen when he knocked. Dinner had turned out wonderful, with a few of Molly's cooking charms she'd learned. Surely she had the presence of mind to ask Viktor to work the charm for her.

But then, maybe not. After a long absence, like the one preceding that visit, he could usually steal all of her logical reasoning with one kiss, one hungry look from those dark eyes, one whisper of his hands across her skin. Maybe she hadn't remembered to ask him. Hermione moaned and reached for the damp washcloth she'd left on the edge of the bathtub, wiping it across her face. Her stomach somersaulted. She couldn't have a baby now! She worked too many hours; she couldn't raise a child on her own! Viktor would help if she asked him, of course--he was a good man--but she wouldn't ask. He put in as many hours at Quidditch as she put into her job, not to mention traveling all over the world. This was not a good time for a baby! They weren't a good couple for a baby! Hell, they weren't even a couple--more like friends with benefits. He came to visit every couple of months for some fierce, hot sex and some companionship. They got along wonderfully _because_ they weren't a couple. No strings, no expectations--and definitely no babies. Just sweaty bodies moving together in the night and a few hours of good conversation, maybe a few glasses of wine and a romantic dinner or two, just to get them in the mood.

Not that they needed much help for that, Hermione reminded herself--and then snorted and promptly vomited again.

A few hours later, her stomach had calmed down considerably and Hermione had decided she'd just been dealing with a bad bout of the flu. She even managed, triumphantly, to hold down some chicken noodle soup and a few sips of water. She went to sleep confident that she'd feel perfectly fine in the morning. She was not at all pleased to be woken up by rejected soup all over her sheets. She barely managed to strip the bed and change her sweats before she crawled back to the bathroom.

An hour later, Hermione decided that she was living in the bathroom for the next nine months or so. She pulled down her clean towels from the rack and made a semi-comfortable nest to rest in. If pregnancy was this bad, why did women keep having babies? Why were there so damn many people in the world? How the hell had Ginny lived through this four times?

But then, Ginny had Harry. And really, Viktor deserved to know about the baby. He'd find out eventually anyway, when he showed up for a weekend visit and discovered Hermione had taken up residence in the bathroom.

Hermione concentrated on her stomach for a few minutes and decided that it seemed to be as calm as it was going to get. She shoveled in a few bites of cold cereal as she scribbled a note to Viktor, horrified at her wobbly handwriting. What do you say in a note to summon the father of your child, who happens to not even be your boyfriend? "I need to see you" sounded a bit desperate and "I want to see you" wasn't really true. She didn't want to see him right now, not when she was rushing to the toilet every few minutes. But then, Hermione's stomach began churning again, and "I need to see you" was just right. It would take the owl days to get to Bulgaria; instead, Hermione threw the Floo Powder and the startled bird in the fireplace and called out Viktor's address. Desperate times, desperate measures. She ran back to her towel-nest in the bathroom floor, tossed some cookies, and fell asleep.

The doorbell tugged Hermione out of her slumber. Quickly, she splashed some water on her face, then flicked a soggy Froot Loop off of her t-shirt. She hurried to the door, her tummy tap-dancing. When she looked through the peephole, Viktor was standing outside the apartment, looking smug and scrumptious. He even had roses. Had he guessed that she felt terrible?

He pressed the doorbell again and Hermione realized she should open it, instead of standing there gaping through the peephole. She thrust the door open and gaped at him through the open air, instead. He had on dark, dressy jeans and a clean white shirt, tucked in but open at the throat. Oh, Merlin, the hollow of his throat, framed by the bright white fabric, caught her attention--his sweet spot. A tickle of her tongue or a brush of teeth across it, and the dark hair on his arms would stand up, and he'd get shivers. The primal look in his eyes would darken and she'd know his toes were curling. Just the thought of that look sent a tingle to her own surging stomach and a shiver up her spine. How was it possible that she was getting turned on at the same moment she wanted to send her breakfast--no, her stomach bile; breakfast was gone--hurtling onto his shiny boots?

"Herm-own-ninny?" His voice pulled her from her daze, and she met his worried eyes. "Something is vrong?"

"Um..." She looked down at her threadbare sweats and wondered when she'd last brushed her hair. Before work yesterday, probably. And she needed a shower, and her toothbrush. And he looked absolutely _edible_. Life was so unfair. "Um, yeah, we should talk. Come on in."

He followed her to the living room and dropped the roses on the coffee table, then dropped to the couch and stretched his long legs out, propping his feet up beside the roses. She never cared; the table was battered anyway. And he looked so comfortable sitting like that. She wanted to curl up on his lap like a child and let him make her feel all better.

Where had _that_ thought come from? Hermione forced her mind back to the conversation that needed to be held, but before she could sit down, her stomach leaped into her throat. "Damn...excuse me a minute," she bolted out, hurrying for the bathroom.

She was certainly not expecting Viktor to follow, and when he gathered her hair into a ponytail as she retched, she was both embarrassed and comforted. Afterwards, as she wiped her face with a washcloth, he filled one of the small cups beside the sink with cold water for her to rinse her mouth. "Better now?" She could see concern on his face. She nodded, and he hugged her, then scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. Hermione was too limp and exhausted to argue.

He carried her into the living room and settled onto the couch again, this time keeping her in his lap. It was incredibly odd, she thought, because they didn't normally cuddle unless it was sexual. And this, this had nothing to do with sex: this was all about comfort.

Viktor pushed a few tendrils of hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead. "You should have say in your note you are ill. I am sorry. I think..." he paused, and Hermione looked up at him. He was looking at the now-wilting roses, and his cheeks were tinged with red. He was blushing! Hermione smothered a grin and tucked the memory of it into her heart.

"What did you think?"

"I think that you...ah...maybe did not haff enough of me last veek. Vas flattered to be asked back for more...romance."

She laughed, a short, derisive bark. "Nothing against your prowess, loverboy, but it's something rather different."

"I see that. You are ill. I do not mind taking care off you, Herm-own-ninny. You know I care for you."

She took in a deep breath; she needed to correct his misunderstanding. "I'm not sick, Viktor."

He gave her a condescending look. "Do not fib to me. I know better. You vomit; you are pale as a ghost. You look awful."

She laughed again, the same harsh sound. "Thanks."

"You are alvays beautiful, effen vhen you look awful, but really, you are ill and should rest. Vhat do you need me to do? Go get medicines?"

Hermione slid out of his arms, off his lap, onto the couch, and looked Viktor in the eye. "Viktor. Listen to me. I am not sick. I think..." A sob rose in her chest, and she did her best to choke it back down. "I think I'm pregnant."

She wasn't sure what she expected. Maybe he would freeze. Maybe he would faint. Maybe he would even cry. Instead, he leaped up from the sofa, and she was glad she'd gotten off his lap.

"Vhat!" he shouted, and then choked back a word she suspected was vulgar Bulgarian. He tried to smile, a crooked, nervous smile, but the terrified look in his eyes betrayed him. "I mean, um, is vonderful news." He sat down stiffly on the couch and took her hand, squeezed it. "Vhat do you vant me to do? Go get...uh...baby blankets?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "It's not coming _today_, Viktor."

"I know, I know...did not think. Vhat I do?"

"Nothing, Viktor," she answered, not even knowing what to say. "You don't have to stay here, or take care of me, or anything. I just thought you should know."

He pulled her back onto his lap and stroked her hair; she snuggled her head against his shirt. While he was here, however long this lasted, she was going to take what comfort from him she could. She listened to his heartbeat and his breathing for a few minutes before he spoke. "Sveetheart, if I vas villing to take care vhen you just sick, vhy I not vould stay to care for you now? I say I care about you, I mean it. And is my baby. I care for baby too. I can stay here, please? At least a little vhile?"

She nodded drowsily against his chest. Yes, he could stay. He felt nice. She drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up, she was covered up with the throw from the back of the couch, and she wasn't sure where Viktor was. There was a box of saltine crackers sitting on the coffee table, and the wilted roses were gone. She felt him come into the room before she saw him. "You should eat crackers so you vill not vomit."

"I'll probably just puke up the crackers," she answered grumpily.

"No, book say the crackers vill help. I buy the crackers special, because the book say." He sounded so proud that she ripped open the crackers and nibbled on one.

"What book?"

He handed her a copy of _Magical Maternity: A Witch's Pregnancy Guide_. It featured a picture of a smiling baby wearing a pointed hat with stars. "I vent to Diagon Alley vhile you vere sleeping."

Well, he was taking the news better than she'd expected him to. She had a niggling suspicion that he might be enjoying it just a little. "What else did you buy?"

"Vell, vhen you go to sleep, I vas going to put you to bed, but your sheets are gone. I looked but I could not find them, or any others, so I buy some sheets. Vhat you do vith your sheets?" He didn't stop for an answer. "Also, I read about the morning sickness before I leaf town, so I know to buy crackers. Bought lots of crackers, because you haff lots of vomits. Also some soup. But no more pink medicines." He wagged his finger at her, smiling. "Book says medicines might not be good for the baby. Also..." He stepped out of the room, but quickly returned with a big bouquet of daisies. "I get these for you. Roses, I bring for romance, but daisies are for Mommy." He leaned down and kissed her.

_Mommy_. A child, a child that looked like her and Viktor, and that child would call her Mommy. Hermione felt something small and warm growing inside of her, pushing that terrified dread back a little. She looked up at Viktor, who was humming as he left the room again. He was excited, and he didn't seem at all afraid now. He must have come to terms with this while he was out shopping. That black cloud moved back a little more, displaced by the warm sunshine.

He came back in the room and plopped down on the couch beside her, carrying a pastel yellow bag. He was grinning, and when he looked at her, his eyes danced. "See vhat else I get!" He pulled a jersey out of the bag. It was a Vratsa Vultures jersey--his team--and she'd never seen such a tiny Quidditch jersey. "Vhen she comes, she can vear this, and fly vith me. Vill be youngest Seeker effer. Probably she vill be youngest Seeker in the Vorld Cup, steal my record." The pride in Viktor's voice, the light in his face, pushed away all of her dread. She still had some fears that she suspected were normal, but she could be Mommy. And she was excited too.

She laughed at Viktor, taking the tiny jersey in her hands. "I told you, she's not coming that soon. And she probably won't be flying for a few years afterwards."

"I know, she vill take a long time to cook. But she vill fly soon enough! I take her. I promise, I vill be so careful, Herm-own-ninny, you vill neffer haff to vorry," he answered earnestly.

She couldn't help but reach up and stroke his jaw, roughened with the day's whisker growth. "I know. You'll be a great daddy, Viktor." His eyes darkened as he gazed at her, but Hermione couldn't decipher that look. It wasn't lust--she'd seen that plenty of times--or excitement or pride or even fear. It was different, and dangerous but comfortable all at the same time. And then, he kissed her, and something in her shattered.

All evening, while they ate the soup he'd brought home, while they cuddled on the sofa and watched television, while she relaxed against his chest, with his strong arms tightly around her, Hermione wondered what was different--why _she_ felt so different. She wondered why tonight her apartment felt more like home than it ever had before, even when he'd spend time with her here. Something was new, something besides the baby.

But that night, when they climbed into bed--between black satin sheets he'd bought, which Hermione laughed at--when they climbed into bed, she still hadn't figured it out.

The next morning, he made her eat crackers before she got out of bed, and she didn't get sick. He strutted around, bragging about the brilliance of _Magical Maternity_, while she giggled at him. Then she scrambled him eggs and he confiscated her coffee. She cursed at him and he laughed, pulling her down on his lap and kissing her. She felt better, much, much better, and she wanted him. Hermione returned his kisses fervently, until he carried her back to the bedroom and dropped her into the black satin. But even their passion felt different: less like just sex, and more like...something else.

Lovemaking.

But surely not. They'd carried on their arrangement for several years now, and it had always suited Hermione just fine. They could go on with their busy lives, making time for each other every once in awhile. No strings.

A baby was a sting, and Hermione wanted the baby. So did Viktor. So maybe...maybe she was beginning to want more strings?

Late that afternoon, Hermione had a startling discovery: her period had started. She sat down on the edge of the bathtub in shock: all this had been for nothing? No baby? But she'd been so sick, and missed her period, and forgot to do the contraceptive charm on New Year's Eve...She felt a tear slipping down her cheek.

There wasn't a baby. And now, just when she was starting to love him, Viktor would be gone again.

After a good cry, Hermione washed her face to brave telling Viktor that she'd screwed his life up for no good reason. He was in the armchair, reading _Magical Maternity_. She leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching his lips move as he read silently to himself. It was a cute habit, she thought. What other cute habits did he have that she didn't know anything about? She'd memorized so much about his body--the sweet spot on his throat, the freckle on his lower back, the way he was ticklish along the backside of his calves, that he would moan if she bit softly on his earlobes. But she'd never known that he moved his mouth as he read. She blinked her eyes, hard, trying to stop the tears that threatened.

"Viktor," she said softly, "I'm not pregnant."

He looked up, and his eyes were soft and sad, melted chocolate. "Vhat?" he asked, voice almost a whisper.

"I'm not pregnant. I just got my period. I...I missed the last one, and this one is arriving two weeks late. I guess I've had the flu. I'm so sorry, Viktor." He closed his eyes, and she knew he was sad inside. He'd gotten so excited, and now she'd hurt him. She should have gone to the doctor first. She should have made sure. She told him that, and he pulled her down on his lap again, cradled her against him, once again offering that comfort she needed.

"Is ok, sveetheart. I understand. You vere sick and scared, miserable, and you needed somevone. I am thankful to be the man you call vhen you need help. Or rather, stuff a poor flustered owl in the Floo vhen you are scared."

She chuckled softly. "Was the owl ok?"

"Yes," he answered, smiling slightly, "but he does not effer vant to come home again. Is afraid of the mean lady now."

She laughed harder, and suddenly they were both laughing--slightly hysterical laughter, the kind that doesn't make sense but deals with hurt and disappointment. When they were both quiet, Hermione looked down at her hands. "I guess, since I'm not pregnant, you can leave any time you want, now. I'm sorry if I bothered you when you had other things to do."

He hugged her close, and then cupped her face in his hand and made her meet his gaze. "There is novhere I vould haff rather been. I promise." He was quiet a moment, and then asked, with his voice low and gravelly, "Vhat if...sveetheart, vhat if I do not vish to go?"

Surprise and longing jolted through Hermione's heart and soul. "You want to stay?"

He brushed his lips across hers. "If you vant me, I vould loff to stay, to try and see vhat you and I could be together. I am tired of liffing this vay, this vay ve decided on, vith no strings. Vhen I say I care about you, I meant it, but now I...I care much bigger. I think I am in loff vith you, Herm-own-ninny. If you vill haff me, may I stay?"

Her cheeks were wet with tears that Hermione hadn't known she was crying. "Yes, Viktor! Yes, you can stay." And that was the difference: love. She loved him too. And maybe someday a little girl would wear that tiny Vratsa jersey and fly with her daddy.

All it would take is a few strings--strings that Hermione was willing to tie.


End file.
